Lost

Vanity
Vanity

Mooribound thoughts in grey sliced by a jagged indigo wind!

Shatter across the frozen tundra of the mind…

Then conclude at the dead end of human wisdom.

Gray truth of depression speaking again!

Hopeless dry snow! Cold powdered emotion!

Stinging the eyes and faces of all daring to come near,

Offering the salve of cheerful words that burn!

Here to remain in shadowed dark retreat…

The deepest forgotten cave of a tortured brain;

Silently licking these old wounds opened again;

Protecting new gashes now, both festering as one…

Gangrene of the soul threatening amputation!

Complete severing from God and life. Woefully lie,

Safe in the embrace of isolation. “Lover hold me close!”

No one can hurt me here! Hints of safety and relief in nonexistence…

Death’s soft whisper seduces awful grey to flow into a sultry ebony dream…

Black delusion! Dead coal to burn red-hot!

Ignited as latent anger explodes! Life’s final stand!

Mollified in the righteous anger of God! Oh ancient lake, Gehenna!

Garbage dump zealous to consume,

Vain creators and their works born of carnal purposeless lives.

Faith lying dead in heaps are the broken dreams of mortal pride,

The very cutting shards of this biting indigo wind!

Wind fanning the flames that never die!

Outside the City Gate…

Where regretful lost souls gnash their teeth and cry!

The Recluse (Part XI)

“Thank you for taking me to church with you, Maria. I enjoyed it very much.” Estelle opens the car door to step out onto the sidewalk in front of her house and Maria gets out of the car too. “You are very welcome, Estelle. We love your company and I so appreciate what you are doing for Alisha.” As if on cue, Alisha jumps out of the car behind Estelle and gives her an unexpected hug. “Thank you for coming to hear me sing Ms. Williams!” Estelle gasps at the surprising embrace but then accepts it and returns the favor. Maria hugs her in turn and Estelle feels an old ache momentarily fade. It’s been a very long time since she’s felt a human embrace. “I will see both of you soon.” Estelle bends to peer into the car where Tony sits behind the wheel, “Thank you, Mr. Hernandez. Have a wonderful afternoon.” Tony nods in ascent and then looks straight ahead, “Come along Maria…Alisha. We need to get going.” Mother and daughter get back into the car as Estelle walks toward her front door.

Estelle opens the door and is enveloped in the isolation she’s sheltered in for such a long time. The emptiness feels safe and familiar but also, frightening and all consuming. She looks around at the immaculate, perfectly decorated house and has a sudden urge to dirty it up and make it look like someone actually, lives here. Determined but not really understanding the force impelling her to action, Estelle defiantly strides into the living room, looks at the portrait of her mother, and begins tossing expensive, artfully placed cushions from the sofa and chairs willy-nilly and even on the floor. Then she kicks off her shoes, lets down her hair and carelessly, flops down on the beautiful blue sofa. She stretches out as for a nap then reaches for a perfect rose pillow to support her head as she stares into the painted eyes of her deceased mother.

Those eyes leave Estelle feeling frozen. “How many times did I reach for you, Emma? How many times did I need a mother and even though I could see you and touch you, my mother was never there?” In a flash, Estelle understood herself as having always been an orphan on the emotional level. In fact, she’d been forced to be a mother to Emma from the time she was a small child. “Was I a good mom, Emma?” Estelle yells at the portrait as tears begin to spill. Then she remembered what the preacher said in church that morning about somehow, being able to have a parent-child relationship with God because of Jesus’ death on the cross. The idea of having such a relationship is very appealing to Estelle but it doesn’t make sense to her. She also, remembers the words of Jesus and the validation she felt upon reading them. “Emma! Do you know or care how much pain your drinking and constant neediness caused me? Do you know how hard Dad and I worked to keep your drinking secret and how much life we lost trying to protect you? Were you ever aware of what people said to me or what our neighbors thought?” With tears streaming, Estelle counted all she’d lost to Emma’s drinking and the black hole that drinking was used to anesthetize. Much of her childhood was consumed in that hole and even more of her adult years after her father passed. “Even now Emma, you steal my life from me because you never had a life! You never became a whole person! You used me to live for you and I’ve never lived for me either…” Estelle fiercely wipes the tears from her eyes, “I’m going to find a way to be more than the arms and legs of Emma Williams! I want to be a whole woman and live my life!” Estelle moves a few more objects out of place, gives Emma’s portrait a hard stare, and leaves the room.

It’s anger that gives Estelle the energy to move despite these new inner revelations. It is also, anger that numbs and gives her the fortitude to fight her excruciating, emotional pain. In the sanctuary of the only bedroom she’s ever known, she removes her church clothes and puts on her favorite pair of yoga pants and a big t-shirt. Then she goes to the bathroom to wash her face and pull herself together. When she catches her eye in the mirror, she gives herself a hard stare much like the one she unleashed on the portrait of Emma. “I-want-more!” she states firmly just below the tone of a shout.

In the kitchen, Estelle makes a sandwich as she recalls the words she heard in church that morning and remembers the warmth of friendship she’d enjoyed with Maria and Alisha. “Relationship. That’s exactly what’s missing in my life.” Estelle counts the relationships she was never able to enjoy, the school-chums that couldn’t come over to play or for sleep-overs; then later, the young men who could never find room in her life because her life belonged to her mother. “Now, I’m left alone and I don’t know how to connect to others because I never learned.” This truth comes down cold and hard but also, clarifies the solution. “I need to learn how to relate to people.”

Estelle takes her sandwich and a glass of milk with her as she goes into her office for her lap-top. Thinking she will lay down on her bed and catch up on some reading, she starts to enter her bedroom but then suddenly turns and decides to use Emma’s room instead. Pushing decorations aside, she puts her things down and rips open the bed. The frilly comforter lands on the floor where it stays and Estelle builds a comfy seat for herself from the pillows. She opens the curtains to let the sunlight in and then settles in bed to finish eating, not caring about the crumbs spilling all over the expensive satin sheets.

“If I want to know who Jesus is, I guess I need to read the Bible.” Estelle doesn’t own a Bible but quickly finds one online. Not knowing where to start, she decides to begin in Matthew, the book from which they’d read that morning. Estelle reads all of the Gospels and is transfixed by the person of Jesus described in those pages. “Such an ancient story that touches my heart in a way I don’t understand.” Estelle whispers to herself but also, to God. “He suffered so much but He stayed true to You and You were always there for Him. What a wonderful relationship. God, I don’t know what I have to do exactly. I don’t really understand but I want that relationship. I want You to be my Father too. I am all alone and I need You!”

Estelle closes her lap-top, pushes it to the other side of the bed, then sinks down off the pillows, and drifts off to sleep. Before long, she is wandering from room to room in her house-dream. She is a little girl to whom the house of her childhood though small, appears very large. The house is cold, empty, and Estelle lost, meanders circling from one silent room to the other, calling for first her mother and then her dad. There is no answer. The house is filled by an arctic wind and then goes black. Little Estelle shivers in the dark fearing she’ll also, disappear in the void; when suddenly, a bright light appears!

To be continued.

For previous posts in this series go to https://joyindestructible.com/the-recluse-series/ where posts are listed in ascending order.

To My Word Press Angels

I’ve been going through a tough time in my life and one of the reasons I started this blog was to remind myself of joy because at that time, I felt very unhappy. It worked. I did retrieve my joy in Jesus but not in the way I expected. I didn’t expect to be ministered to by angels here on Word Press but dear, loving angels are exactly what God has given me. All my angels have common sounding names: Jim, Maria, Wally, BJS, Patrick, Jacqueline, G.W., D. Wallace Peach, Miguel, amoafowaa of Mum C Writes, Lonely Arthur, Pauline, JacobEmet, Kathy, Robert and many others who pray for me and encourage me through this painful time in my life. I have angels from all over the world who have shown me they care. I know Jesus lives because I see Him living in you.

I’ve spent most of my Christian life as a Baptist but God doesn’t care about that and often speaks to me in my dreams, anyway. As some of you know, I’m going to visit Mayo Clinic soon and there in those expert hands I hope to find the right treatment to put my weird disease back into remission. Last night God sent me a very special, very vivid dream. I opened my eyes and all of my Word Press angels were there to see how I was doing and to give me a hug before I go to Mayo. I know I dreamed this because of all the prayers being said for me by all of you. It was a very sweet, very encouraging dream and I’m sharing it because even though, I will probably never get to give any of you a real hug, I love you all. Thank you. Your kindness has helped me survive some very cold, painful days. I am blessed to have such dear angels. You mean the world to me.

Married to Pain

There are moments during a rare warm Siesta Moon,

When the pain ebbs and my body sings a softer tune.

Sighs of relief! Pain gone brightens usual Agony Moon,

My cruel lover who won’t let go sings besetting croon,

Beastly howling like a lost coyote during a Dusty Moon!

Our relationship began by accident, a trap by the goon!

I married pain in the greenish light of a Ghoulish Moon…

Day, years, decades pass as I take medicine in a spoon.

Divorcing pain I will joyfully dance under a Fiesta Moon!

My Consequence and My Pardon

I am a sinner saved by grace and in this present world, I will never be anything else. That doesn’t mean that the grace I’ve received is a cloak for evil. My profession of faith isn’t a ticket to sin without punishment. What I do avoid by my acceptance of Christ is what the Bible describes as the “second death”. I believe in Judgment Day and on that Day the pardon I’ve received through faith in Jesus will keep me safe from the final death of spirit and soul that I and all human beings deserve. Jesus didn’t die to make me a moral person. Jesus died to give me and anyone else who will accept it, eternal life. Jesus died in order to reunite God and man. Faith in Jesus isn’t a matter of morality. It is a matter of life or death. However, I am changed by having Jesus at the center of my life and my desire to sin is diminished by my greater desire to please God. The gift of eternal life is a morally transforming gift.

As a sinner saved by grace, I still suffer the consequences when I sin. Those consequences are natural and inescapable. No one is able to break God’s Law and avoid what those wrong actions create even if they escape human punishment. I have been sick for the better part of forty years now, due to a serious sin I committed against myself as a teenager. I have changed my life since then and there are those who love me and think that God is being very unfair toward me in allowing me to suffer for a mistake I made as a child. I know that if God hadn’t intervened in my life, I never would have been able to change my life, and I would most likely be dead, forever separated from God. My illness is simply the natural consequence attached to my sin and part of my cross to bear. Others doubt my faith or think I suffer needlessly because my faith is weak but my faith doesn’t come from me. It too is a gift from God and the consequences I endure prove the durability of my precious gift. Without Christ, I would be a physically broken bitter old woman. With Christ, I am a physically broken joyful old woman. All that should have embittered me has taught me empathy and opened many doors into the lives of others that enable me to share God’s love and comfort with my fellow, suffering sinners. The consequence of my foolish actions keeps me humble and in a position that allows God to work through me more effectively. I endure because I know ultimately, my healing is coming. Because Jesus died for me, I will physically die only once, and I will rise again to live with Him in a better world.

As a sinner saved by grace, I also suffer as a result of the sins of others. In fact, some of those sins are what drove me, as a child, to use drugs. However, I am still accountable for my actions as those who hurt me are accountable for theirs. The sin I committed against myself hurt me, hurt the people who loved me, hurt the people who love me now, and most of all hurt my Heavenly Father. My sin put Jesus on the cross and His physical sacrifice made it possible for me to be granted forgiveness from God. In the same way, I a sinner must forgive those who sinned against me. That doesn’t mean they will accept my forgiveness by taking responsibility for their actions. I can’t do their part of restoring our relationship. I can’t force what even God doesn’t force upon others. It does mean that I pardon them just as in Christ I am pardoned. I am unable to do this on my own but because Jesus lives in me by faith, the Holy Spirit enables me to do what is humanly impossible.

This is what the cross means personally, to me. I know it sounds very foolish to most but that is the power and the ultimate wisdom of the cross of Christ. True foolishness is to reject the free gift of eternal life by denying the price Jesus paid to obtain it and then offer it freely to all who will believe. True foolishness is to deny the fallen state of mankind and our need for God. We can never be Him and will only die trying. My prayer during this time of year when the world considers the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus is that eyes and hearts will be opened to realize the need for salvation found only, at the foot of the cross of Christ. Please, accept your pardon today.

 

 

The Recluse (Part VI)

The loud slam of Maria Hernandez’s car door brings Estelle bolting up from a deep sleep. Suddenly alert, she responds as if to a gun blast and is instantly, awake and vigilant. As she realizes the more common reality of what she heard, she gets up to look out the window and sure enough, there is Mrs. Hernandez walking from her car toward her front door. Estelle pulls the blind down and then looks into the mirror over her dressing table. She brushes her hair smooth, wipes her face with a disposable cloth, and then reaches for her favorite sweater. It’s not cold but wrapping it around her gives her a feeling of armored protection as she prepares to confront her neighbors about the behavior of their child. Confrontation is no easy task for a person who has done everything in their power to avoid contact with others and in this moment of truth, Estelle is facing an epic challenge. She feels she must do this in order, to put her life back into a manageable context.

Without really knowing how she arrived, Estelle stands outside the Hernandez home, clutching her sweater around her in a stabilizing hug. She waits for a response to the door bell and then upon becoming impatient, knocks. She feels the tension brought on by the slow answer pushing against her urge to flee. Just as she is about to give in to the second emotional prompt, the door opens. Estelle finds herself looking downward as the small form of Maria Hernandez fills the doorway. There her eyes meet the kindest, warmest eyes she’s ever seen. All of her angry resolve melts in those soft, hazel-grey globes. “Hello! May I help you?” asks Maria. “Oh…ugh…yes, I think so. I’m your next door neighbor. My name is Estelle Williams and I was wondering if I could speak with you about a problem I’m having.” Estelle sighs with relief in the success of being able to express a cohesive thought. She pulls her sweater tighter as she waits for what might come next. Maria holds out her hand and warmly invites Estelle inside, “Why of course! I’m so glad to finally, meet you. My name is Maria. Alisha has told me about you. Did you enjoy the Bisquochitos? Please, come in and have a seat.” Estelle enters the Hernandez home which is a cookie cutter image of her own but so different. The house is clean but the furnishings are merely practical and a mix of old with new. Estelle finds an over-sized chair near the back wall, facing the entrance and timidly, sits down. “Yes, the cookies were nice but I’m having some problems with your little girl and that’s why I’m here.” The soft expression on Maria’s face turns to concern and consternation, “Oh? I can’t imagine my Alisha causing anyone problems. She’s a good girl and I’ve never heard her say anything unkind about you, Ms. Williams. In fact, she asked to take cookies over to your house because she worries about you being alone.” Estelle thinks about this statement and description of Alisha for a moment then compares it to those manipulative eyes that she’s found spying on her for the last two weeks and has sudden insight into Alisha’s disregard for the personal boundaries of others. “Well…Maria…may I call you, Maria? I do appreciate your daughter’s concern for me but that concern is invading my privacy. For the last two weeks it seems, every time I turn around I find those big, brown eyes of hers spying on me. I must say that she is much too young to be on her own all day. Girls her age need guidance!” There, she said it and the problem is on the table. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she sees the subject of this conversation trying to remain invisible as she peers around the corner from the kitchen. Estelle aims the full force of her green eyes straight at her and Alisha vanishes as silently, as a ghost. “Oh, Ms. Williams…” Maria’s beginning explanation brings Estelle’s attention back on this gentle face. “You may call me, Estelle.” “Estelle…I’m sure Alisha doesn’t mean to invade your privacy but I will talk to her.” Not hearing exactly the response Estelle hopes for she reiterates, “That’s a good beginning Maria but if the little girl is alone with no one to enforce your… conversation, I have no assurance that my boundaries will be respected.” Maria flops down on the sofa and clutches a worn pillow in her lap absent mindedly, pulling the corners. “I don’t like leaving her here all day either. I wanted to put her in some kind of program for the summer but the ones I can afford, she doesn’t like. I gave into her. We’ve just moved and moving is expensive. My husband is starting a new business and I have to work. I’m sorry Alisha is bothering you. I will talk to her but I’m afraid that is the best I can do right now.” Maria doesn’t quite believe her daughter would spy on their neighbor, she doesn’t want to force Alisha into a summer program she doesn’t like, and she down-plays Estelle’s complaint as she feigns concern. Estelle sees the denial and decides to make a brave move in hopes of gaining direct control over the situation. “Well Maria, I do see your point of view. Perhaps, I can offer a solution and since Alisha is so concerned about my state of… loneliness, perhaps she would be willing to help me with a few chores around my home and accept payment in the form of art lessons, with me as her teacher. Perhaps, that would solve many of our problems.”

Alisha being careful to remain out of sight hears this and her heart leaps. She doesn’t like the sound of the word ‘chores’ but wow, what an intro to the inside world of “The Lone Lady”! She decides to make a dramatic entry into the scene playing out in the front room.

Alisha smoothes her ribbons and her summer dress then skips into the living room, “Hello Mamma! I’m glad you’re home! Oh! Ms. Williams! I didn’t know you were here!” She opens her chocolaty eyes wide for their full effect and smiles her most dazzling, people-pleasing smile. Maria’s face lights up as it always does in the presence of her beloved daughter, “Oh, mi linda! Come here and give me my hug.” Alisha folds into her mother’s side on the couch knowing she’s won control no matter what Ms. Williams says. “I’m glad to see you here Ms. Williams. I worry about you all of the time!” Estelle compares the words she hears to the expression in those eyes and knows from long experience the truth doesn’t match Alisha’s intent. She decides to match that intent and replies, “Well Alisha, I’m a grown up and I’m old enough to choose to be alone and manage my behavior. You on the other hand are a child and I believe it is you who shouldn’t be alone all day. I don’t mind being alone but I do think it not right for a girl your age to be left to her own day-after-day. Your mother and I were discussing this and I’ve made her an offer. I do have many chores around my home you could help me with and in exchange for your help, I am willing to give you art lessons. What do you think?” Alisha took the bait and jumped in before her mother had a chance to respond. “Oh yes! Yes, Ms. Williams! Oh Momma, I would love to help out. You know you and Daddy are always telling me how important it is to help others and I would be learning something too! Please Momma say, yes!” Maria’s natural servant’s heart over-rides any logical thought in the situation. She only wants to make everyone feel better so, she follows the inclinations of her heart as she always does when she makes a final decision. “Estelle, are you sure this isn’t too much bother?” “If it were a bother Maria, I wouldn’t offer. I don’t like being spied on and I do need some help with things. I love creativity and I will enjoy sharing what I know with Alisha.” Maria looks into the face she favors above all others and says, “Alisha, mi jita, my precious little girl yes, I think this is a very good idea. If it makes you happy little one, it makes me happy too.” Then she turns toward Estelle whom she already regards as a friend and with loving warmth, accepts her offer with many thanks. The three of them discuss the matter further, set a scheduled time, and agree that the plan they’ve made will begin tomorrow. “Well, I should get back home. I have work to catch up on and I must say Alisha, I don’t want to look up from my desk and find you watching me. If we are going to be friends, you must respect me. Friends don’t spy on friends. I am looking forward to seeing you at nine tomorrow morning. Don’t be late! I’m a busy woman.” Alisha, thinking she’d won a victory and fully confident of her ability to avoid doing any real work, gushes, “Oh, Ms. Williams. I am so happy and I promise not to watch you anymore. I just worry if you’re okay because you are always all by yourself. If I’m with you then I won’t worry!” Estelle knew these words to be a side-step of the real truth but she had no idea of Alisha’s underlying intent. Still, she was satisfied to be back in the driver’s seat of her life and as she turns to walk back across the driveway, feels some relief in having regained some control over her small world. Alisha watches her back feeling smug in her almost magical control over adults and looks forward to finding new clues into the mystery of her strange neighbor. Maria looks on with tender, soft eyes from one to the other, thinking how wonderful they both are and how blessed she is to have each of them in her life. The three of them have no idea of the change the pact they’ve just made is going to bring into their lives.
To be continued.

 

To find links to previous posts in this series, visit my Home Page and go to the drop-down menu, just under the Header, click “The Recluse Series”. Links are posted in ascending order.

The Source of Genuine, Indestructible Joy

My joy isn’t dead, no matter how I feel. Even though everything on my plate is seasoned with pain, Jesus lives! Though the boot-heal of oppression bears down in an attempt to grind me into dust, my hope is un-crushable. Even when my happiness shatters and all those I love move beyond my embrace, love isn’t carnal or mortal. When my body is broken, then passed around as bread and my blood becomes a drink, a sacrifice consumed but unrecognized, Jesus is my validation. He walked this path before me. He set the standard. True sacrifice isn’t made in hopes of personal reward. Though I fall and the weight of this cross I bear is too much for me to lift again to carry, God’s ultimate plan remains. When my eyes are blind with the tears of sorrow and agony causes me to no longer care, a new blast of His breath enters me and by His strength I rise to move forward. Though the sting of sin poisons everything I see and touch by the fulfillment of His Will, not mine, I will press beyond Death’s boundary and reach the ultimate prize. In Jesus I possess indestructible joy which He bought by His obedience and blazed the Way predestined for me to follow. This narrow path I must walk despising all worldly gain. I am nearer now to the finish than I was yesterday. Though in this world I endure suffering and can’t always feel my joy, when I finish this race, my agony will melt away. When my body dies to become ashes and dust, I know Death has no power over my soul. Though this present night is deepening, soon the Son will rise with healing in His wings! When morning comes, my feet will rest on the eternal shore. I will forget the effects of sin’s painful sting and cry no more. Jesus is my eternal joy.

Job 42:1-6 “I know that you can do all things; no purpose of yours can be thwarted. You asked, ‘Who is this that obscures my plans without knowledge?’ Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know. “You said, ‘Listen now, and I will speak; I will question you, and you shall answer me.’ My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen You. Therefore I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes.”

The Recluse (Part V)

See links to previous posts in this series at the bottom of the page.

Estelle is in rare form on this early July morning. In fact, any long-time neighbor who might happen to see her standing defiantly on her front porch with hands on her hips as she glares at the Hernandez home next door would be shocked. She is always mindful of who is out-and-about and did everything she could to not be seen for more than a second. Estelle is definitely beside herself as she prepares for an unwanted confrontation. Caravana fretfully, tries to distract and comfort her by rubbing her legs and meowing but Estelle is in vigilant mode; unaware of herself and his presence. She’s had enough! That unattended child next door, that little Alisha, had spied on her for the last time! When Mrs. Hernandez came home this afternoon she was going to get a piece of her mind! Estelle mumbles to herself, “How ridiculous for an eleven or twelve year old child to be home alone all day! It just proves that religious people have no common sense no matter how perfect they think they are!” It riles Estelle to see that little family pile into their car every Sunday morning, rain or shine, to go to church but during the week, leave that little girl home alone with nothing to do but bother her! She was definitely going to let them know about it!

With a set plan of action in mind, Estelle and Caravana go back inside the house and Estelle tries to focus on her work. However, instances of catching Alisha spying on her over the last couple of weeks keep bubbling up in her mind. Anger is meant to block all other thoughts and prepare the threatened one for battle with super-focus on the enemy. Estelle is very angry and simply can’t think about anything else but the events that have violated the safety of her privacy and her pending confrontation set for this afternoon. She gives up on work after several failed attempts to accomplish anything cohesive and begins pacing in her office. Her pacing turns to wandering from one room of her house to the other. This tear Alisha made into the fabric of Estelle’s cloistered world is fostering greater tearing and in each room she enters, unwanted, long denied memories assault her. Images of daily life with her mother overwhelm her and exhausted she enters her bedroom, closes the door, and collapses on her bed. Estelle’s room doesn’t look like a magazine. Everything here is a scattered eclectic mess. A room cluttered with objects from childhood mixed with her adult things and nothing ordered into any cohesive purpose. Undeveloped would probably be the best word to describe the décor of this room in this perfectly decorated house.

Estelle curls into a fetal position with Caravana spooning himself into her stomach. She mindlessly caresses him while in a transfixed trance, overwhelmed by images and feelings of the past. Those memories are so intense that if she tries to move she won’t be able to because her body is shut down, giving all its energy to her overloaded, flooded brain. Flash after flash of instances when Estelle so desperately needed her mom to be there for her. A mom who was always present, who she could see and touch, but was emotionally absent. Emma had been so overwhelmed with herself that she seldom even saw her little girl. Estelle wonders if her mother had ever really known what she looked like. In this moment of sensory overload and the emotional flash-backs accompanying it, Estelle feels the full weight of abandonment and suddenly, understands why. She’d spent her entire childhood in a state of emotional abandonment! She acknowledges herself as an invisible child whose emotional needs went unmet. In fact, all of her childish needs were secondary to the gaping need of her mother. This paralysis she experiences is the frozen terror of a child left all alone in the world.

With a vehement surge, the chocolate eyes of Alisha Hernandez fill Estelle’s visual field. A child left all alone; a child whose eyes hold the same cold hunger as the eyes of Emma. Those eyes that see others as interesting or uninteresting objects to be moved this way and that for pleasure or to fill needs. Objects that when failing to produce pleasure or serve a useful purpose are then discarded without a thought. “The eyes of a cold-hearted queen” Estelle thinks out loud and in an instant, understands that ‘Queen and her personal servant’ was the description that best fit the relationship she once had with her mother. Another flood of memories come; memories of a desperate little girl trying so hard to please her mother, make her happy, and make her notice her existence. She feels that deep sadness that often overwhelmed her as a little girl and that deep, insistent desire that someone, anyone, especially her mother would notice she was hurting and ask her why. No one ever asked that question and Estelle longs for it now with the same intensity of pain she carries with her every day, in silence.

“Caravana! You are the only living creature who has ever cared about me!” The old, white tom cat responds by stretching, gently patting Estelle’s face with his paws, and then lifts himself up to lick her tears. Estelle’s tears are rolling now. A deep fount of long-stored-salt-water bursts open and the normal mute-hush, of this ghostly house, shatters in the crying shrieks of an abandoned child.

Estelle falls into a debilitated sleep that lasts until ended by the sharp slam of a car door.

 

To be continued.

Part I: https://joyindestructible.com/2016/01/16/the-recluse/

Part II:  http://www.joyindestructible.com/2016/01/23/the-recluse-part-ii/

Part III: http://www.joyindestructible.com/2016/01/30/the-recluse-part-iii/

Part IV: http://www.joyindestructible.com/2016/02/14/the-recluse-part-iv/

 

Sustaining Joy

Every day new worlds rise! And old worlds fall apart.

I am told this is only, a matter of perception.

What do you do when your world is taken all apart?

Is good attitude, a positive thought of deflection,

Able to override calamity? Or mend a tattered heart?

Is faith only energy? Form of magic imagination?

 

I believe that true faith hurts and bleeds very red.

Because when Lazarus died, “Jesus wept”.

Then He called him and raised him from the dead!

I know that in Jesus, my sad soul is kept.

Though my old world crashed down upon my head!

Jesus is here with me; my need is met.

 

Herein lies my joy! Whether I be happy, sad, even mad,

If I be abandoned, crushed, battered, or stoned,

Should persecution come, the enemy steal all I’ve had!

Jesus paid the ultimate for me; my sin is atoned.

Even though in this world I find little to make me glad,

He understands; in my heart never be dethroned!

There He rests, keeps me warm, when all’s gone so bad.

 

 

 

 

Rare Disease Awareness Day 2/29/16: Cryoglobulinemia and Me

This is a hard post for me to write. I don’t like to write about my health. Cyroglobulinemia has stolen a great deal of my life from me but I am determined not to allow it to become my identity. However, February 29th has been set aside as a day to remember those who suffer from rare diseases, in hopes of igniting understanding, research, and new treatments for those going through the ordeal of being subjected to a poorly understood or unknown disease. I’m not likely to ever meet another person in my community who is Cryoglobulinemic, my doctor has never treated anyone else with this disease and probably, never will. One of the most disconcerting things about my disease is the look on the faces of health workers when they ask me how to spell, Cryoglobulinemia and then explain it to them. In many ways, I have been forced to become my own physician and most often, I know more about Cryoglobulinemia than any doctor, nurse, or physician’s assistant that I go to for help.

Cryoglobulinemia is an autoimmune blood disorder. Cryoglobulinemia Type I is a primary disease, meaning it exists by itself for no known reason. Mixed Cryoglobulinemia, Types II and III is associated with other autoimmune disorders, some cancers, and most commonly, with Hepatitis C. I have Mixed Cryoglobulinemia associated with the Hepatitis C virus I carried for thirty-three years. I endured 40 weeks of a horrendous chemotherapy treatment and cleared the virus. My Cryoglobulinemia went into remission (I thought I was cured) but returned with a vengeance about three years later. I’ve been sick for over a year now but still remain hopeful that I’ll find a way to put it back into remission.

Cryoglobulins are part of everyone’s immune system but my body makes too many of them, they are deformed, and they don’t die and clear the blood-stream as they should. Instead, they clump together along the walls of my blood vessels, where white-cells attack them and cause inflammation in the blood vessel walls. The result is a type of Leukoclastic Vasculitis. When any part of my body falls below 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, the cryoglobulins begin to gel and clot, which acts to further impede the blood flow already diminished by the vasculitis. The results are rashes called purpura, welts, hives, and bruising of the skin. Inflammation in connective tissue causes myalgias and joint pain. Nerves are affected and can be damaged in the long-term due to impeded blood flow. Nerve trunks may also, become inflamed. Though text books generally, limit Cryoglobulinemia to medium to small blood vessels, with the effects on skin and joints, there is no body system immune to the ravages of Cryoglobulinemia. It can cause organ damage and the most common death related directly to Cryoglobulinemia is kidney failure, when the kidneys become clogged with cryoglobulins and can no longer function. The reality for those of us with this disease is living with the complete unknown of what to suspect next because what is written in most text books is only observation, derived by those doctors monitoring their Cryoglobulinemic patients. As our disease progresses, their knowledge increases.

My life as a Cryoglobulinemic is ruled by temperature. If I am to survive and decrease my pain, I must stay warm. My ‘normal’ body temperature runs about one degree below what is considered normal for human beings so, I begin at a deficit. I start to feel uncomfortable at any temperature below 75 degrees. I don’t feel cold, I feel pain, and when the first pains began, I didn’t associate it with the temperature. If my core is warm but my arm is exposed and falls below body temperature, I first feel pain as tingling in my skin that deepens to an ache. If left exposed, I develop a rash, hives, or painful welts. These sometimes, pop open and bleed, leaving small ulcers. Welts and hives often leave iron deposits that leave permanent brown spots on my skin. I sometimes, develop painful nodules in clogged blood vessels that can pop and bleed under the skin, leaving small and large bruises. Sometimes, the bruises leave iron deposits too. My skin however, is the least troubling aspect of my being a Cryoglobulinemic. I have peripheral poly nerve damage in my hands and feet and because of impeded blood flow, I have had nerve pain in almost every area of my body. Pain in every form: itching, tingling, crawling, shooting, stabbing, throbbing, burning, jolting, blinding, deafening, don’t touch me, pain. The pain ebbs and flows with the amount of inflammation in my body. Some of the damage can heal between flares but sometimes, the damage is permanent. I have permanent numbness in my hands and feet. I have new numbness around my left eye as a result of this current flare. I also, have bouts of vertigo because of the effect of inflammation on the inner ear. These are my major complaints. There are many more. I ignore the ones I am able to ignore as I attempt to treat the symptoms that are more demanding and a bigger threat to my quality of life.

The most debilitating aspect of Cryoglobulinemia is how it isolates me. In the spring, summer, and early fall, I can go outdoors but I have to avoid public buildings with air conditioning. When the weather gets cold and if I’m careful, I can go from the house to a warmed car and public buildings with good heating systems. When the temperature drops below 55 degrees, it’s best if I stay home. When it drops below 40 degrees, it’s dangerous for me to leave my home. Breathing cold air robs me of valuable, core, body heat that takes time to replenish, causes the cryoglobulins to gel in my lungs, resulting in wheezing and coughing and robbing my entire system of needed oxygen. I feel weak for several days after an exposure to cold. Though my husband and family never complain, I’m sure my house feels stifling to them. Unable to socialize very often and being sick for over a decade now, leaves me with few friends and no way to make new friends. There was a flurry of attention when I was newly, diagnosed but people go on with their lives and a hard reality of a long illness is being forgotten. People don’t mean to. It is just part of it.

At this current moment, I’m taking Prednisone, which for me is a miracle that can’t last. It relieves the inflammation, my pain vanishes, I can see, hear, and the vertigo is still. I can’t take Prednisone as a long-term treatment. The main-stay, current treatment for Cryoglobulinemic Vasculitis is Retuxin. It is very expensive and administered through infusions in a clinical setting. Due to changes implemented through Obama-Doesn’t-Care, my access to good insurance is blocked, even though I must purchase health insurance or be fined. I pay a very high premium, for catastrophic insurance with a $5,000.00 deductible, with no set co-pays, and estimated coverage that fluctuates in cost to me, on a daily basis. I am not being penalized because I have a chronic disease; I am offered only, substandard insurance because my husband and I are self-employed. The only way I could obtain the kind of insurance I need would be to work for the government or a large corporation. By law, I am forced to participate in a system that regards me as a secondary kind of person, who must pay to help provide coverage for others that is denied to me. I am considering paying the fine and using the money I spend on monthly premiums to help pay for the medication I need even though, the idea seems crazy to me. I find myself in what seems an impossible situation and I have some tough decisions to make. In the meantime, the stress is causing my body to produce more cryoglobulins.

I am part of a good, online support group, where I can converse with others who suffer as I suffer. It helps, as our slogan states, to know “You are rare but not alone.” Not because I am made happy by others suffering as I suffer, or worse, but because of the validation that comes only, from those walking a similar path. I also, think of others who suffer from rare diseases unknown to me and even unknown to science, who are suffering and needing answers. I do have Cryoglogbulinemia to thank for giving me a great deal of time to spend alone with God and I don’t know how I would manage any of this without Jesus. I also, have my dear, devoted husband who does so much for me. I have my children, and grandchildren, and my closest friends. I have the dear people here on WordPress, who give me daily encouragement, kindly read my writings, and make me feel I am still in the world. I would rather be well and out doing things under my own steam but I am grateful to God and the kindness of others that enables me to endure and not give up hope. Because Jesus lives, my joy is indestructible.

If you want to know more about Cryoglobulinemia, or wish to donate to research, visit, Alliance For Cryoglobulinemia at http://allianceforcryo.org Please, on the rare leap-year day of February 29, 2016 take a moment to remember those suffering from a rare disease. Cryoglobulinemia is only one of many.